Spark
by smolder
Summary: "...With every story they shared they somehow found themselves closer together on his window seat until their thighs where touching – he could feel the faint tremble of excitement in her body through her prim blue cotton dress." Alice/Christopher Robin


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Winnie the Pooh belongs to A.A. Milne. Alice in Wonderland belongs to Lewis Carrol.

A/N: One of the bits I wrote for a prompt over at 'The Disney Kink Meme'. The prompt given was: _Alice and Christopher anything! Fluffy or Smutty I'm ok with both._

As he grew older Christopher Robin ran into a problem.

It was okay when you were little, but believing in talking animals was something you were teased about by your classmates in school. And it even became less cute to adults for a boy to believe in a magical forest around the time he became a teenager. Before really, if the looks his mother gave him were any indication (the over-careful suggestions that if he ever needed to talk to anyone. _You know, dear – a professional._ It was alright. There was nothing wrong with that).

So, Christopher learned not to tell anyone about how funny Pooh could be or how much he delighted in seeing Eeyore – no matter how pessimistic the tail-less donkey was.

The one time he broke that and told someone was his first girlfriend. Chrisptopher had thought he was in love with her so he felt he should tell her _everything_, including this. He had held her hand and looked her in the eye and explained to her about the entire Hundred Acre Woods and all of its inhabitants.

After her was done she had stared at him for a long moment before pulling her hand away and laughing hard like he had been telling her some elaborate joke and not an integral part of his life. He had laughed awkwardly as well, just to get through the moment, and then broken up with her the next day.

That was all, of course, before he met Alice.

She was in his Modern Literature class in college and so much different from all the other girls. Utterly unconcerned with the current fashions – wearing clothes so old fashioned and proper that it made his teeth hurt with the fantasies it conjured in his imagination.

He was smitten with her instantly upon first sight but she was smart too – and of a much higher class than him. He didn't want to ruin it by acting immature, by bringing up storybook worlds inhabited by talking bears stuffed with fluff and tigers that bounced on their tails. Why would anyone else believe that such things were real when the older he got the harder it was becoming for even _him_ to cling to it?

But it wasn't until he slipped up and she found some of his drawings that Alice even began to show interest in more than casual friendship.

He tried to pass it off as just pictures at first but she pushed and he told her the stories. She returned in kind. And there was something in both of their tones that was recognized by the other, the _presence_ perhaps. The fact that they were relaying things that had happened _to_ them and not just stories that they had read.

The sharing was tentative at first. Both of them feeling the other out, neither sure if the other would believe them. If the other was _lying_ even. But soon hesitancy turned to urgency and words tumbled from their mouths almost too fast to understand.

It was amazing though, to find someone else like him. Someone else with this world buried inside of them, kept secret from everyone else not out of want but out of necessity. Because no one else would ever believe it.

But now someone else did. The spark of connection he was feeling was almost like magic in its wonderment – a sort of happiness bubbling in the both of them that was so unbelievable it threatened to boil over at any moment.

And he could tell that Alice felt it too. Her eyes were wide and her lovely pale skin was flushed. With every story they shared they somehow found themselves closer together on his window seat until their thighs where touching – he could feel the faint tremble of excitement in her body through her prim blue cotton dress.

So, neither was particularly surprised by the kiss. It felt _right_.

Christopher _was_ surprised though by her climbing on his lap – the crinkle of the starched fabric of her petticoat and the flash of her white stockings (he had been having _dreams_ about those stockings). He _was_ surprised by the way her hands pulled his shirt, almost desperately, from his pants before attacking the buckle and dipping inside.

"We _never_ have to forget our wonderlands Christopher Robin. We _never_ have to grow up," she said her impossibly big eyes almost feverish. Her words somewhat paradoxical with the steady motion of her hand and the frenetic motion of her hips rocking against his thigh.

He moaned clutching her tighter to him and whispering in her ear, "_Yes_. Yes; we'll _always_ be like this. Always believe. I'll take you to the Hundred Acre Woods," he promised wildly making her hips stutter against him as she let out a sound between a gasp and a whine that had him bucking into her hand.

_Oh._ He wanted her to make that sound again and again.

She leaned back slightly to look at him. "Really?" she asked, wonder written on her face.

It took him a second to collect his thoughts and remember what he had said. "Yes," he replied definitively looking her straight in the eyes. "And we'll be able to talk about it to each other _whenever_ we want. _No one_ will tell us no. _No one_ will say we are silly or immature for _knowing_ that it's real," he said fiercely.

She surged forward and kissed him hard. The friction from the fabric of all of her layers rubbing against him, making him let out a whimper.

Yes, together they can keep a hold of their wonder, joy, imagination, safety, and childhood. Together they can keep a hold of their worlds for just a while longer.


End file.
